


Three Meals a Day

by days4daisy



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Background Characters Deserve Love Too, Ethan's Crush on Michael is Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan enlisted in Archangel Corps for three meals a day and a bed. The job always comes first. But the House Whele guard helps too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Meals a Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [callay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callay/gifts).



> I loved your requests, Callay! It was hard to pick one. I decided on #2 because Gabriel and the Wheles are confirmed for next season. We have time to revisit Prompt 1, maybe in the next exchange!
> 
> I'm not sure if we'll get more Ethan and Vince in Season 2. They deserve fic, and fic they now have :)

Ethan Mack doesn't like angels, and he sure as hell doesn't trust them. But a man's gotta eat. In Vega, hungry V1s have three options: hustle, whore out, or enlist.

Ethan just turned eighteen. He started out hustling, and he was good at it. Never got caught on the big jobs. Spent a few nights in lock down, sure. Got the whip once or twice for stealing food at the market.

Sloppy slip ups. A sick mom will do that. She's dead now, anyway. Ethan is more focused.

He might have gotten by on hustling for awhile. But, fact is, Archangel Corps is stronger than it's ever been. Ethan sees where things are headed in this city. At the end of the day, it's better to be on the side with the legal guns. And who can turn down a warm bed and three meals a day?

But this doesn't mean Ethan is proud, standing in line with the Corps' newest recruits. He sees familiar faces alongside him. Some, he's shared scraps with. Others tried to cross him.The kid at the end of the line? Ethan broke his nose once. Asshole tried to swipe the gin he nabbed off a House Whele truck.

The kid's all cleaned up now. So is Ethan. He's in a fresh-pressed uniform with the Corps' wings on the sleeve. His hair is smoothed back, nice and fancy. Man, if Ma could see him now. But she can't. She's in Heaven. Or Hell. Or wherever souls go now that God's dead, or whatever. 

Ethan doesn't like angels. But he's staring one in the face now. Protocol says not to make eye contact. Look away from the Archangel. Don't touch him. And don't ask to see his wings... Must be a story behind that rule. 

Ethan holds his stare. He's eighteen and pissed off. His mom's dead, and he's got no other family. Half the friends he grew up with died in the streets. Offed themselves or got offed.

And here's their protector. Their guardian. Ethan is mad, and he wants Michael to know it.

The Archangel presents his badge. "Congratulations," he says. "Welcome to Archangel Corps." 

He does not blink, smile, or frown. Might as well be made of stone, like some old Roman sculpture. The Venetian had fakes, back in the day. But they've been torn down or graffiti'd over. Wings painted on in black, then splattered in red. Spat and pissed on. Curses tattooed with any writing tool available.

Ethan grabs his badge. "Mack," he mutters. 

Eyes stare down the line. An audible grunt comes from the superior officers behind him.

He grazes Michael's hand when he reaches for the badge. The angel's skin is cold as a corpse. 

But Michael is alive, or better. He grips Ethan's hand faster than Ethan can blink. A strong, abrupt squeeze. "I know who you are," Michael says. 

Then, he drops Ethan's hand. Ethan blows out the breath he did not realize he was holding. 

He doesn't like angels. But those coal-dark eyes stay in his mind.

***

They follow him to the market that night. Celebration echoes down a back alley. Moonshine flows and stolen goods are passed. Food from the dining hall and other, more potent substances. The speakeasy is lit by torch light. Boisterous with its present company of guards and new recruits.

Ethan sits at a long table with the fresh Corps initiates. He hangs at the end, silent. His new clothes itch on his too-clean skin. 

These people are not his friends. Maybe one day they will be. They are, after all, strong like him. Corps training weeded out the weak from the warriors. These are the ones who hungered more than the rest, who fought and clawed for those three meals a day.

Maybe this is why Ethan does not trust them. Survivors are dangerous.

He only nods at one, the kid whose nose he broke back in the day. The kid nods back, but he goes off on his own. Ethan's glad for it. 

The group Ethan sits with are recent converts, V1s elevated to V2s by graduation into the Corps. The born-right V2s keep to themselves. Even at their low class, they hold themselves above the risers. Their heads are down and their mouths are in their ale. But Ethan sees hands twitching over sheathed weapons. Ready to act as needed. 

Some army.

Ethan's eyes wander through the pack. He sees uniforms for House Romero and Frost. But the black-clad table stands out. The hunched shoulders of House Whele. 

Rumors fly about the Whele guards. Underhanded dealings. Unsanctioned torture and killings. All kept under wraps by a force too scared to stand up to the Consul. Or a force too fucked up to care.

Ethan isn't bothered by the rumors. With the things he's seen, it's hard to give a shit about morals anymore.

His gaze settles on one. A lanky type, tall and blonde. He has stern eyes and a strong jaw that keep his face jagged. Too hard to be pretty. Ethan prefers this. Vega is pretty too, a shithole covered by colored lights. Pretty makes Ethan suspicious. 

The guy has a strong body under that Whele uniform. Broad shoulders, firm arms. Long hands wet with condensation. Cold like the Archangel's maybe.

Ethan sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he heads to the counter.

Seconds later, he's got a glare on his face. "Got a problem?" 

The guy has a good voice. Deep but level. Clean, not gravel. 

Ethan grins. "I'm a blue shirt," Plucks at the wing patch on his arms for emphasis. "Got every right to be here."

"Corps rook," the guy mutters. "Making eyes like he wants something."

Ethan looks him over. "House Whele bottom floor," he returns. "Fail out of Corps training?"

He expects the guy's fist in his face, and he probably deserves it. Ethan kind of wants it too. He feels too put together in this damned uniform. Collar too high. Hair too neat. A crack on the cheek would remind him of where he came from. The freedom he left behind for a safe bed.

But Ethan doesn't get decked. The guy waves down the counter for a drink instead. He leans on the bar. Lets Ethan get a good, long look down his back. His shoulder blades shift under his black shirt.

"I hate angels more than I hate the Wheles," the guy says.

Ethan laughs. "That's saying something." He turns to rest his back on the counter. The position gives him a better look down the guy's body. He lets himself take a good, long stare. Doesn't hide it. Wouldn't be the first time Ethan gets turned down. Life is too short to play cute when he wants something.

The guy picks up his new drink before making eye contact. If he's got a problem with the stare, he doesn't make it known. "Consul Whele found me on the Island." His mouth quirks. "Thought his boys were going to kill me. Instead, he offered me room and board. Lucky me."

Ethan takes up his refilled mug. Seems as good a cause as any for a toast. "Bottoms up then," he says. They clank mugs and drink.

The moonshine burns like gasoline. Ethan tries to save face, but he has to cough.

The guy is laughing behind a fist. "That is _vile_."

"Straight diesel," Ethan agrees. It is fucking terrible. But being drunk off bad booze is better than staying sober. "Less painful if you put it down quick," he suggests.

The guy raises a brow. Ethan smiles wide. "Mack," he offers.

"Halloran," the guy replies. He lifts his glass. "Cheers."

***

Ethan doesn't like angels. But he has thoughts sometimes. Thoughts of stretching out under the Archangel on silk sheets. Cool and smooth, like Michael's hands. His naked body sliding around in that Stratosphere perch. 

He's heard Michael likes it nasty. Has a circular bed and mirrors on the ceiling. Parade of women sneaking in and out. Maybe he's got a taste for both sides?

Ethan doesn't get that tonight, but second-best is good too. Ethan's pants hang open, and his back is pushed on a brick wall. His breaths smoke out in front of him. 

He happily spreads his legs while Halloran works on his cock. Nice, long fingers - Ethan knew as soon as he saw those hands. Good guess on the guy going for him. Real good fucking guess.

Halloran's body pushes on his. Protective almost, shielding him from view. Ethan thinks it's a dumb gesture, but sweet. 

He also likes the way Halloran's breaths stutter on his jaw. Ethan's hands are slick with lotion. He pulls on Halloran like he's in a game of tug-o-war. One hand dragged down, then the next. His cock is hard and hot, slick in Ethan's fists.

It's a hand job. Nothing new. But Halloran is a looker. And he has skills, for sure. This isn't his first go-round. Ethan can tell by how Halloran squeezes at his base. Thumbs under his cock, nudging the sensitive crook between his base and balls. Drags fingers along the rim. Gives quick, short pumps at the tip.

This experience makes Ethan laugh - a reaction he wishes Halloran would shut off with his mouth. He's got a great looking mouth, soft and wet from repeated swipes of his tongue. But Halloran hasn't kissed him yet, and Ethan is getting impatient. 

Ethan would rather have the hand job, of course. But, call him sentimental - he likes kissing. He bets Halloran has a real nice tongue. Fat and thick, ready to run up the roof of his mouth. Taste every ridge, make his cock pulse hotter in Halloran's experienced hands.

But the kiss doesn't come before Ethan does. His groan is half-annoyed when he goes stiff on the bricks. His hips jump forward, and his knees get a little shaky. He blows a breath up into the night air. 

Ethan likes the feel of Halloran's face against his. Mouth on his shoulder and hair tickling his cheek. Halloran comes with a grunt - the stoic, silent type. 

Ethan grins and nudges his hair with his lips. Tries to goad Halloran on. 

But Ethan doesn't get the kiss he wants. He gets Halloran easing back, exhaling a slow whistle. His face is flushed, eyes shining in the low light.

"Let me kiss you," Ethan says. 

Halloran shakes his head - not a surprise, but frustrating as hell. 

"First name?" Ethan tries.

"Vince," Halloran replies. He gives it without hesitation.

The lack of pause makes Ethan chuckle. "Ethan," he offers. He lazes back on the wall. Clenches fingers in his own hair, wrecking the perfection put on for the initiation ceremony. "You'll give up your name but not that mouth, huh?"

"Name's worth nothing," Vince responds. "Been at House Whele a year. Consul's never asked for it once. Mouth, though. Mouth's something."

Ethan frowns. "Huh?"

Vince's smile is sour as he tucks his cock back into his pants. Still slick with lotion. He does not show his discomfort as he zips up. "You ever been on the Island?" he asks.

Ethan never has. Knew enough about the place to avoid it like the Plague. 

Vince doesn't elaborate. Just says, "Later, Mack." And leaves Ethan standing on the wall. 

Ethan's first thought, stupidly, is of Michael. He wonders if the Archangel is tucked up in his nest. How many bodies does he have tonight?  

Ethan's second thought is that he's going to earn Vince's mouth. As many times as he wants it. And he's going to get it for free.

***

Ethan should be more concerned with embarrassing himself. Do angels sweat? What kind of a question was that?

To be fair, Ethan was worried about Alex. All Noma's fault. She knows the kid likes sneaking outside the city. Alex goes on his little drives and does who-knows-what. He always comes back fine. Ethan doesn't know why she was so worked up this time. But her concern caught on. Freaking Noma. 

Ethan doesn't get Alex's trips outside the walls. Why go looking for angel trouble when there's enough shit to deal with in Vega? But Alex is a different sort of guy. Part of what Ethan likes about him.

Big deal, he asked Michael if angels sweat. Bigger deal, Michael still knew who Ethan was. And he gave Ethan that dark, hooded look. 

Even with the Alex worry, Ethan felt that look deep. Right to the place Vince is currently wrapping his hand around. 

Tonight, it's a supply closet off the main hall from the Corps' barracks. Next week, it might be the abandoned laundry room at House Whele. Or the back alley behind House Riesen's loading docks.

Never silk sheets and a circle bed. But this will have to do.

"Made it another day," Ethan says. His hands slide up Vince's sides, rucking up his shirt. He takes his sweet time admiring those abs. One good thing about House Whele - they keep their boys in shape.

"Another day," Vince echoes. A good day, by his smirk. He's nice and relaxed, opening his legs so Ethan can fit between them. His hand is a warm presence against Ethan's boxers, stroking him through fabric.

Ethan rolls his hips forward. No mystery, he's already hard on Vince's hand. Ethan shifts so he can push his own pants down before getting started on Vince's. 

This supply room is one of Ethan's favorites. Private, quiet, and lots of boxes. Like the one he eases Vince back on, giving him a better angle to undo his belt and zipper.

Ethan's own pants are at his knees. He chuckles when Vince squeezes him. No encouragement necessary, thanks. But Ethan gladly buries his face in Vince's neck. Long and wiry, perfect for biting just hard enough to sting the night. 

Ethan might leave soft marks in other places, but below the collar line. Consul Whele likes his boys polished. No hickeys, no scars.

"I remember when a certain someone wouldn't let me kiss him," Ethan says.

Vince slides his hand into Ethan's hair, balls it tight, and pulls. He smiles before his mouth latches over Ethan's top lip. 

Ethan decides that joking with Vince about the past isn't important. Enjoying here and now, this seems like a better plan.

His teeth sink down on Vince's lower lip. His mouth is soft and warm, the lip a bud between his teeth. He worries slowly, making Vince hum. 

His hand drags down the back of Ethan's neck - yeah, Ethan likes this. Hell, he likes anything having to do with those long fingers. They tug at Ethan's clothes, get his shirt off and his pants to his feet. 

Ethan backs away enough to get Vince's shirt off. Now they're getting somewhere.

Ethan reaches for his bunched pants on the floor. He returns with a bottle and twists off the purple cap. "I come prepared," he says.

Vince snatches it and sniffs the open end. His nose wrinkles. "The hell is that? Flowers?"

"Lilacs, actually." Ethan is proud of himself for knowing. "Courtesy of House Romero. And..." He reaches behind Vince for a liquor bottle. Aged scotch, 3/4 of the way full. A pretty good find for a quick in-and-out job. "Also courtesy of Romero."

"Thanks, Senator." Vince opens the bottle of scotch. "Not that generous over at Whele."

"The Consul ain't exactly a people pleaser." Ethan tries to stay with the conversation. But Vince makes it hard, with his scotch gulping. His Adam's Apple jumps just under his skin. 

As soon as Vince lowers the bottle, Ethan is on him, sucking scotch from his lips. His mouth burns with the liquor, a drop sliding from a corner of Vince's lips. He chuckles under Ethan, which Ethan likes and doesn't. A happy fuck is good, sure. 

But he likes the sounds Vince makes when he's getting off more. Stoic intakes of breath. Short, ragged pants. And the ever elusive moan. Vince looks so embarrassed after those. Ethan's eyes go dark just thinking about it.

Ethan steals back the lotion and spreads it on his hands. 

He's just started on Vince's cock when Vince pulls away. "I can't go back to Whele smelling like this."

"Lilacs and sex," Ethan reasons with a smile. "You never know. The Consul might promote you."

Vince lifts the scotch bottle in a toast. "Shut up," he says.

He takes another drink, slow on his swallows. Totally unfair. Vince knows it's been two weeks since their last meet up. Knows how he looks, head tipped back, liquor warming his face. 

Back in the day, maybe Ethan would have played at what he wanted. Now, he just drags his tongue up Vince's throat. His Adam's apple rolls lazily under Ethan's lips.

For all his complaints about the lilac lotion, Vince must not mind it much. He spreads a copious amount on his own hands and works Ethan's cock up to a lather. 

Ethan doesn't need coaxing. After a few pulls he's already hard. He shoves Vince's pants further down. The supply boxes must be leaving a hell of an imprint on Vince's ass. The thought makes Ethan grin.

"You've gotta let me fuck you," Ethan says.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Because." As far as Ethan is concerned, 'because' should be enough of a reason. But he continues anyway. "You fucked me last time. I brought the booze. And I really want to make your ass smell like lilacs." Ethan traces a lotion-coated thumb across Vince's cheek. Leaves a smear on his face. 

"Those reasons suck." 

Vince starts to push himself up. Ethan stops him with a hand on his jaw and takes another helping of that mouth. Their naked bodies press close, skin on skin. 

Ethan sees skin all the time. Showering with the other officers, changing in the locker rooms. This is the only time skin feels special anymore.

Well, this, and alone time in his bunk with angel thoughts.

Vince's erection slides on his. Ethan groans and moves a hand down. He urges Vince's hips up tighter. 

Vince has the same idea, only his hand goes lower. He grabs Ethan's ass, squeezing hard enough to spread Ethan out. Ethan's cock twitches.

He should remind Vince that he's the one doing the fucking tonight. But his tongue is a little tied up in Vince's mouth. By the time he can breathe, he's more interested in getting Vince on his stomach.

"One of these days, we'll do this in a bed," Vince murmurs. He braces hands on the wooden crate. Bends himself, ass out and arched. He props himself up by the elbows so his cock doesn't end up full of splinters. 

"Living the dream," Ethan replies, smiling. 

He doesn't rush things. Just takes in the view, and what a view it is. Vince peeks over his shoulder. His back is stretched out, a shine of sweat between his shoulders. Balls dangling heavy between his spread thighs. 

Vince's legs are so damn strong. One of these days, Ethan will try to get him off on them. Suck behind his knees. See how horny he can get Vince without giving his cock a lick.

But tonight is not that night. Tonight, Ethan wants what he's being offered. But he also wants to take his time. 

He makes a show of stretching over Vince's body for the scotch above his shoulder. He shifts between Vince's ass cheeks, teasing right against him but not pressing in. Exhales on Vince's shoulders as he grabs the bottle. Then runs his lips up the side of Vince's throat. Nuzzles his ear. Bites his hair. Drags the bottle down Vince's spine, letting him feel the cool glass.

"Motherfucker," Vince breathes. 

Ethan should make him use better language. But he's too busy downing scotch. He stays pressed tight against Vince. 

When Ethan lowers the bottle, he finds Vince glaring at him. It's kind of a turn on.

Ethan puts down the bottle and takes up the lotion. He coats his hands again, the flower smell covering the dusty musk of the supply room. Then, he pushes his hands between Vince's thighs. Guides his legs further apart, knuckles pressed inside his legs.

"You're getting this right back when it's my turn, Mack." 

Thing is, Vince knows Ethan loves this promise. He can't wait to see what Vince will plot out for him next time. 

And Ethan knows Vince loves what he's getting now. His voice has a little shake to it. 

Wide as Vince's legs are spread, Ethan gets a good, long look at his ass. Open invitation.

Ethan pushes a thumb inside and circles it around. He doesn't miss the way Vince's thighs clench. Or the way Vince turns away from him. Head bowed between his shoulders, blowing out a breath.

"Hurts?" Ethan asks. He'll fuck Halloran into next week, but only if he likes it. They've both been beat up and locked down. Whipped and worse. This will never be that.

Vince laughs, a short, breathless sound. "Been awhile. Yeah, it hurts." The instruction goes unspoken - it'll hurt less with more work.

For a second, Ethan is bitter. This wouldn't hurt if they could live like people used to before the war. Shack up wherever, and with whoever. Fuck as many times a day as they felt like. In real beds, with silk sheets and mattresses. Mirrors above their heads if they want.

Ethan wonders if Michael knows how to prep a guy. Would he even need to? Maybe angels just wave a hand and - poof - good to go!  

Ethan can't snap the pain better. But he keeps his thumb's movement slow. Shallow and soft, stroking the ring of muscle. Soothing. Urging. 

He feels Vince start to loosen, getting lax under his finger. Vince, too, starts to relax. Tension leaves his shoulders. The twitch in his hips is more of interest than caution.

Ethan replaces his thumb with his index finger. He takes it slow, sliding and stroking. 

"Fucking Chinese finger trap," he mutters. It makes Vince laugh, and when he laughs he relaxes more. He lifts his waist, permission. 

Ethan bites his lip. But he won't rush.

A second finger joins the first. Scissoring and smoothing him apart. Ethan slides his free hand up Vince's spine. He gets a low chuckle for his attention. Vince's body shifts. 

Ethan smirks when he realizes Vince has a hand on his own cock. Vince squeezes himself, and his waist juts back further.

"Not like you to be quiet," Vince murmurs. When he glances back, Ethan notes the warmth on his cheeks. If they had a bed, they could fuck face to face. Ethan likes the idea of kissing Vince's neck as he rides him through a cot. 

"Just thinking. Life sucks, but it's good too." Ethan presses a third finger inside. 

"You're thinking that now?" Vince asks. He sounds amused, and a little winded. His voice shakes when Ethan curls his fingers inside. The little tremor of lost control makes Ethan lick his lips.

"Thinking about more than that," Ethan says. He removes his fingers. His free hand kneads into the small of Vince's back, thumb scratching his tailbone. It makes Vince grunt and close his eyes. 

"You good?"

"Go on," Vince says. This is good enough for Ethan.

He pushes in. Takes his sweet time, inches to the head. Swallowed up like a snake. 

He's doing it. He's making Vince's ass smell like lilacs. It's so damn stupid and hot, Ethan starts laughing.

"Slugging you when we're through," Vince grumbles. 

But he's not complaining enough to stop. Vince stretches his legs out further, asking for more.

Ethan wants to have the willpower to drag this out. But Vince is right, it's been awhile since Ethan was on top. He's missed it, and he's impatient for the good stuff.

He shifts forward, burying himself in. His skin grinds up on Vince's. Just this is enough to make Ethan groan.

He grabs hands full of Vince's waist, stabilizing himself. Vince grunts beneath him. His body is held up by one hand clenching a corner of the supply box. His other hand has returned to fisting himself with hard, fast pumps.

Ethan leans over Vince's body. His palms drape around his rib cage, a finger over each rib like piano keys. Ethan squeezes as he thrusts. 

Vince slants an eye back to watch him, which Ethan finds unbelievably sexy. He shows his appreciation with bite marks on Vince's back. The pink swells will fade by morning. Which sucks. 

Maybe Ethan will get Vince out of House Whele one day. The Wing Crew has to be discreet too, but in the showers love marks are celebrated. They pull ooohs and ahhhs from the rabble, but no one ever squeals. They're all in the same boat. One loud mouth ruins it for everyone.

If Vince were in Archangel Corps, Ethan could bite all over his body. Leave him bruised and cut. Claim him like he wants. 

With Vince watching, Ethan makes a show of dragging his tongue up his back. Hot breaths down his skin as he works himself in deeper. He grinds his balls up on Vince's ass. 

Vince is so damn tight and slick. Ethan can feel his dick pulsing. He's getting hot, struggling to keep the pace up. He works faster, harder, skin smacking skin.

Ethan groans when Vince arches just right to push weight up on his hip bones. It shoots an answering heat into his belly. He can hear Vince's hand working his own cock. The slick pop of lotion sliding up and down on skin. Over and over, faster and faster. Along with Vince's breaths. Harder and more ragged.

Ethan angles himself just right. When he buries in, he loses Vince's eye contact. Hits the place that forces Vince to muffle a moan against his bicep. Christ, he has to fasten his mouth on his arm to cover the sound. 

Ethan loves making him moan, he should be annoyed by being deprived of the full thing. But he's too busy gawking at Vince biting his own arm. 

Vince's waist jumps back, out of control. He stutters an exhale, body in tremors. Hitting his high point. 

Ethan lets himself get lost in it too. He pulls out at the last second and comes with a satisfied groan. His climax leaves Vince's back wet and his ass shining from the lotion. 

Everything smells like flowers and sex. 

"Did you just cum on my back?" Vince mutters. Maybe Vince wants to sound annoyed, but his voice is drowsy with pleasure. 

Ethan thinks of Vince's hand. Wet with release, dangling between his body and the crates.

Ethan drags his tongue up Vince's back. Cleans the wet stripes from his skin. He can't help but graze with his teeth now and then. Vince waist twitches.

"Easier to clean," Ethan reasons. He speaks right into the lowest part of Vince's spine. The rumble makes Vince tense, even weary as he is. When he sucks in a breath, Ethan smiles. Teeth against his body.

He only moves when he feels Vince shift. Ethan braces hands on the crate to let Vince turn under him. He's flushed post-orgasm. His hand leaves a wet mark on the crate. 

Ethan smirks. Hopefully no one will have a black light in here tomorrow. 

He slides up Vince's body and nuzzles his face into his neck. His eyes close when Vince's lips find his forehead, curled in a tired smile. 

"You're being cute," Vince murmurs. "Quit it."

"Your fault," Ethan breezes back. "Should be out of here already. Thought you didn't like the sweet stuff after."

"I don't," Vince replies. His arms are strong around Ethan's body. Hands flatten on his back and start a slow climb up his spine. Those long goddamned fingers. Ethan bridges under him. 

He sighs on Vince's jaw. Vince's mouth touches just next to his nose. Kissing slightly...way cute. 

"Quit touching then," Ethan murmurs. His mouth grazes a corner of Vince's. He traces fingers along Vince's stomach, feels his ab lines sloped under his hands.

"You quit touching," Vince replies back. His voice is so low. Ethan should be embarrassed that he groans just from the gruff of it. 

But Ethan doesn't care enough to feel embarrassed. Vince's exhales are hot on his mouth, super distracting. When Vince kisses him, Ethan parts his lips. 

He doesn't care about anything right now.

***

Ethan doesn't care about anything for another hour. 

An hour of hands in his hair, lips on his jaw, laughter in his ear. His own fingers tap lines and bone. Some touches make Vince chuckle, others make him sigh. 

Every once in awhile, they murmur that one should leave, no the other should leave. 

Until Ethan thinks, maybe neither of them should leave. Maybe they should touch each other in this supply closet until the sun breaks. They'll be cast out, sure. On the Island or worse. 

But what of it? They're going to die anyway. It's what soldiers do when they're at war. They eat, they sleep, and they die.

It's this thought that jars Ethan into putting his clothes back on. But he takes his time. He puts on his boxers, then mops a hand through Vince's hair. Slips his socks on, and yelps at a hand smacking his ass. Pulls on his pants and rucks up the shirt Vince has just put on. 

Vince puts his shirt on before anything else. The rest of his naked body begs to be back up on those crates.

Vince puts fingers on Ethan's mouth and pushes him back gently. Ethan feels a stir of something under his just-replaced pants.

"Tomorrow?" Ethan asks. It won't work. Even suggesting the idea shows how damn weak he is. But Ethan says it anyway.

Vince chuckles. He pulls his boxers up, then his pants. "I'm on-call for William. Next week, maybe."

Ethan expected this. It's rare for Father or Son Whele to show up without Vince these days. Being in the inner circle is good for Vince. When the underhanded dealings go down, at least he'll be the one dishing out the pain. Not taking it.

Ethan doesn't ask about what they've forced Vince to do. He doesn't want to know. It's not like Ethan hasn't seen his share of crazy shit on the job. Severed body parts from Helena come to mind.

But Vince's response still makes Ethan stupid and jealous. "Baby Whele detail," he mutters. "Nice."

Three meals a day and a bed... The job will always outrank what they have. But the Principate is hot, and Ethan is bitter. 

Vince has the nerve to smile at him. He drags a thumb under Ethan's chin. "Next week," he promises.

Sure, next week. Unless hell breaks loose at House Whele. Or Gabriel's forces take out the Reactor again. Or, hey, maybe the Chosen One will finally show his damn face!

Vince leaves first. Ethan stews in silence, angry without knowing who or what he's pissed at.

After fifteen minutes, he's safe to head out. Or, he thinks he is. 

"Sergeant."

It's Michael. Fucking Michael standing outside the supply room. Black trench coat. Arms patiently behind his back.

"Archangel. Sir. Uh." Crap. 

"It's after curfew, Sergeant," Michael observes. "Is it not?"

"Yes. No. I mean, uh," Ethan scrambles. "It is? Oh! Shit, I, um. I must have lost track of time. Coming back. After my shift. I thought I heard something in the supply room but, uh, all clear. Sir."

Ethan smells like booze, lilacs, and sex. Michael is staring at him. Shit.

"I should...um..." Ethan smiles weakly. "Bed. Yes?"

"Bed," Michael murmurs. "Yes."

The words are an octave under Michael's usual voice. And maybe it's the shadows, but his eyes seem darker. And...is that a smile? Or a smirk, or...

No, Ethan is imagining it. Has to be. 

Real or not, he feels those words low in his belly. He bites the inside of his cheek. _Bed. Yes._ Those two words could land Ethan back on the streets, or worse.

Michael's arms stay behind his back as he strolls past Ethan. "Goodnight," he says as he passes.

Ethan watches him fade down the hallway, black coat swaying with every step.

He can't exhale until Michael disappears from view. When he does, the breath is slow and unsteady. Fresh heat rises to his cheeks.

A week, Vince said? Fuck. Ethan doesn't know if he can survive a week.

*The End*


End file.
